I watch the starships emerging from hyperspace, and one simple thought visits me. A thought voiced by several characters from a computer game widely known throughout the space of the Commonwealth of Independent States.
"They learn nothing and don't want to learn."..
The quote isn't exact, but the meaning remains the same.
I'm losing the logic of my opponents.
There must be some feedback methods, confirmation reports that the target is in place, that the operation is proceeding according to plan.
No one attacks with a fleet without reconnaissance support.
It's just stupid.
What if there's an ambush?
No, not in the sense of "if." It's here, in orbit of Soulex, and it's organized.
Because it only seems like there's a single Star Destroyer here...
"Sir," Lieutenant Tschel, the acting captain, swallowed noisily and addressed me. "Perhaps we should fall back to a more advantageous position?"
The young commander's concerns were understandable. For the second time in a short period, he had to command a Star Destroyer in battle against a numerically superior enemy.
After all, the Chimaera, just like in the previous battle, was positioned halfway between Soulex and the vector the enemy ships were using to exit.
Except for a Corellian CR90-class corvette lurking beneath our keel, our only support was a Raider-class corvette, requisitioned from Captain Makeno and his lackeys.
And right now, that Raider was pulling away from us at full speed, closing with Ennix Devian's fleet.
I had to admit there was real cause for fear in the coming battle.
"Unnecessary, Lieutenant," I said calmly.
I turned my head and looked at Makeno, standing a couple of meters away in the company of Major Tierce.
"Thank you for your honesty, Captain," the special forces officer gave me a wary look.
"Specifically about what?" Orsan asked.
"You didn't lie," I explained. "Warlord Devian does indeed possess first-class Imperial Navy ships."
And what beauties they were...
Five Raider-class corvettes, advancing in a wedge formation as the first wave of attack.
I had studied the Raider's data with great pleasure and, I confess, had developed a strong desire to replace the supporting Corellian corvette with this type of vessel.
After all, at the same size as the CR90, the Raider was better armed, faster, and came standard from the factory with stealth and transmission encryption equipment, and could deliver a squadron of TIE fighters or interceptors to the battlefield. It was... truly a full-fledged combat unit, capable of more than just screening a vessel like the Chimaera with its rapid-fire weaponry.
The corvette type existed in several modifications with different weapon and equipment configurations. Most Raiders were armed with six twin laser cannons, intended for engaging fighters, bombers, shuttles, and other small craft. For heavy artillery, they boasted one or two turbolasers for destroying ships of similar size.
Since Raiders were essentially the Galactic Empire's response to the Rebel Alliance's "hit-and-run" tactics, the designers had also fitted these raiders with a pair of ion cannons as standard equipment. These were used to disable enemy starships for subsequent boarding.
The Raider-II we currently possessed had, among other things, launchers for shaped-charge missiles installed, making it even more dangerous in battle. Though we had to sacrifice the turbolasers.
Still, this armament change didn't affect the corvette's primary mission — protection from enemy fighters. On the contrary, it led to a narrow specialization in countering and pursuing small enemy starships.
But what pleased the eye most was that the ship's dimensions allowed it to fit into the Chimaera's main hangar bay, and consequently, any Imperial-class Star Destroyer.
Which was intriguing.
Consistently fast, deadly against fighters, possessing fairly strong shields and first-class systems... A vessel like this could replace the CR90 as escort and screen for Star Destroyers. Considering Corellian corvettes attach to hangar bays using magnetic clamps, nothing even needed to be modified. Take it and use it to your heart's content.
Two Gladiator-class Star Destroyers, positioned in the second line and clearly intended for delivering a massive missile strike thanks to their ten missile launchers each. Identified as Bloody Ambitions and Cunning. Unfortunately, nothing about those names told me anything about them.
Absolutely nothing.
I had heard of these ship types somewhere, read about them, even seen pictures (as with the Raider-class corvettes), but in all my time in this universe, I hadn't just never seen them under anyone's command — no one had even mentioned them in conversation.
Yet, apparently, these starships were mass-produced, not some makeshift construction. Consequently, data on them existed in the Imperial archives. Well, I'd have to thoroughly comb through them to have at least general information about all the Galactic Empire ships I might encounter.
Gladiator-class Star Destroyer. (Two of them.)
And closing the formation were five Venator-class Star Destroyers.
Every ship, without exception, gleamed with a gray hull and bore the traditional mark of Imperial starships — no paint on their plating. Because it would be far too expensive to restore camouflage or paint any insignia after every battle.
"Ah," the special forces officer said, clearly embarrassed. "That is... no thanks necessary, Grand Admiral. But... are you seriously intent on fighting an entire line formation?"
"If necessary, of course," I said. "However, I would prefer to avoid bloodshed between Imperial officers. We all took the same Oath — to serve and protect. It would be far too sad to break those promises and destroy perfectly educated and trained officers and specialists merely because they chose the wrong sapient as their leader."
"Your diplomacy skills are top-notch." Makeno demonstratively pulled an aureodium ingot from a pocket on his belt. "Perhaps if you had more of these things, you could have persuaded the crews of these ships to your side and avoided destruction?"
"Why reduce everything to such vulgarity?" I clarified. "For a sapient to make the right choice regarding their loyalty, one must first demonstrate their own superiority over the enemy. Weak and wealthy warlords are served only as long as they have money. My goal, however, is to attract to the Dominion's side those sapients ready to fight in the front lines for ideological reasons and out of loyalty to the Dominion, understanding they are doing the right thing. Purchased loyalty easily changes its vector the moment someone offers a little more money."
Makeno winced.
"During our previous conversation, I thought you were a pragmatic sapient. Now I see you're an idealist with hints of pragmatism."
No, I definitely wouldn't disabuse him of that notion. And why should I, when time would put everything in its place?
"As you wish, Captain," I said neutrally. "Remind me, what name did you give your former corvette?"
"Whiplash," Makeno replied.
"An interesting name," I said. "So be it. Lieutenant Tschel." The acting ship commander tore his gaze away from the main viewport, through which he had been greedily studying the arrived enemy formation like a starving traveler who'd spotted free bread. "Send an open-channel message to the enemy ships offering them a chance to surrender."
"Yes, sir," Tschel murmured, moving to the comm station.
He was gone for about two minutes, then returned and reported:
"We were ignored, sir."
Which, in the diplomatic language of the Imperial Navy, meant: "We outnumber you, and you will be defeated, disgraced, and taken prisoner."
All rather sad.
"We may begin the battle," I said, looking at Tschel.
Judging by his momentary silence, the lieutenant had briefly forgotten what we had gathered here for.
But he recovered quickly.
"Yes, Grand Admiral," he nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with his hand. "Commencing. Attention, all crew." This he said into the comlink. "Commander speaking. Battle stations!"
I felt Captain Makeno's gaze on me, understanding his bewilderment.
A lone Star Destroyer with two support ships against seven destroyers. Which, though not in the same weight class as him, clearly outmatched him in salvo weight. And another five Raiders... If I considered the possible outcomes given the current conditions of the engagement, then yes, we would inevitably lose this upcoming battle.
Simply because we were outnumbered.
One destroyer, two support corvettes, five understrength squadrons of TIE Interceptors, one squadron of fighters, and a short-staffed bomber squadron.
That was all Devian's lynchers thought we could oppose against five Venators, each capable of deploying several hundred small craft, five corvettes and their equivalent squadron complements, and two Gladiators, each capable of delivering two squadrons of small craft to the battlefield. Not to mention that each of those destroyers could launch a total of six hundred missiles from their launchers before their magazines ran dry.
Yes, I had looked up information on this ship type after all.
I didn't know why the Gladiators were called destroyers — they didn't meet the criteria in size (a mere half-kilometer in length) or armament. After all, against our turbolasers and their heavier counterparts, the enemy could field only five batteries of light turbolasers and two batteries of laser anti-aircraft guns.
It seemed someone had just wanted a "pocket destroyer" back in the days before the Procursator appeared.
Well, we might have parity in guns, but the enemy had the quantitative advantage in both starships and small craft.
No wonder the enemy commander hadn't even responded to our surrender offers.
The sin of self-importance sometimes leads to death.
I'd be lying if I said I shouldn't overreach on a lone, and rather battered, Star Destroyer...
However, my opponent didn't know something.
And to be completely honest, he had zero operational intelligence — in the fullest sense of the word.
I looked at the chronometer. About ten minutes had passed since the enemy appeared, arriving forty-five minutes late for the battle.
Total — fifty-five minutes.
Devian's formation would need another seven minutes to close the distance and reach maximum turbolaser and missile range. They would reach effective kill range in another five.
Twelve minutes before our guns opened fire... The only problem was that the slaughter would begin sooner.
Well, I had genuinely offered to spare both the crews and the ships.
The enemy ignored me. Clearly, he valued neither.
So, I would take his ships for myself.
I needed them more.
* * *
"This isn't an enemy, this is a salad!" Tia shrieked indignantly, turning one of the first enemy small craft into a cloud of superheated gas. "Where did they get so much of this junk?"
Kreb wanted to remind her that the Dominion also had plenty of "this junk," but chose to keep his thoughts to himself, focusing on destroying an ARC-170 with a short burst. The fighter had clumsily tried to out-turn the nimble TIE Interceptor.
It only caught a long quad-burst in the belly, which split the ship from nose to stern, ignoring the deflectors. The engines exploded, scattering the fighter into tiny pieces.
But that was irrelevant now — Kreb and his wingman had already found new victims. They latched onto them with the clear intention of destroying them before they could penetrate the Chimaera's outer defense perimeter.
The enemy formation commander had made what he considered the best decision: he sent hundreds of his light Alpha-III Nimbus-class starfighters head-on against the three Dominion ships.
Alpha-III Nimbus-class starfighter.
With significant fighter superiority, the enemy had every chance to draw the Chimaera's air wing aside to deal with his fighters and interceptors. This would expose several attack vectors and clear the path for a few ARC-170 squadrons. Those heavy machines would then only need to reach firing positions for torpedo salvos against the Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship Star Destroyer.
ARC-170 starfighter / ARC-170 superiority fighter.
In principle, Lieutenant Kreb agreed with "Black-Two's" observations.
The enemy had indeed given them not just a heterogeneous mass of starfighters and interceptors. He had consciously used them in conjunction with one another to achieve specific goals.
While the Nimbus-class ships, with their speed of seventy-five megalights, overwhelming numbers, and decent maneuverability, were supposed to simply sweep aside the line TIE fighters that were standard equipment for Star Destroyers, things turned out nothing like the enemy had planned.
Thrawn's side had no more than one squadron of line TIE fighters (a second, belonging to the Guardian's air wing, had been restored as much as possible but was guarding the Super Star Destroyer), and they were deliberately kept close to the three Dominion ships, near the bombers.
The outer perimeter was held by practically five full-strength squadrons of TIE Interceptors. Nearly sixty machines clashed with over a hundred Nimbus-class ships and half as many ARCs...
The enemy had nearly a two-to-one advantage — and that was just on the frontal axis. There were also the flanks!
The Chimaera's OCC was steadily feeding new information to the pilots.
And the situation was becoming clearer. More and more with every second.
The enemy was attacking the Chimaera from three sides, intending to break through to the destroyer and damage it. No one would try to destroy it outright — they would attempt to capture it.
Otherwise, the Gladiators would already be launching from their missile tubes — volleys, not single shots as they were doing now.
Consequently, the main emphasis was on fighter superiority. But this plan hadn't worked — thanks to their hyper-maneuverability and speed, the TIE Interceptors were pushing the enemy back. Destroying them at every encounter. The only problem was that the Dominion had few machines.
And they had to hold the enemy back, prevent the new types of Grand Army of the Republic machines pouring from the Venators... No, it was clear the pilots inside them were Warlord Ennix Devian's men, but the identification markings on the fuselages indicated the Dominion pilots were, against their will, participating in a new wave of the Clone Wars.
So, the Dominion pilots faced the classic set of nearly every small craft from the Clone Wars and the following decades. Even though all these light V-19 Torrent interceptors and Eta-2 Actis-class, the already mentioned Nimbus and ARC-170s, the BTL-B S1 starfighter-bombers, and Delta-7 Aethersprite interceptors, the "Headhunters," were morally obsolete, they still posed a significant danger to Dominion pilots.
Moreover, Kreb had even managed to fly an Actis once. During his cadet years, after which, as soon as he earned his first officer's bar, he had sat exclusively in the cockpits of TIE-series machines.
But the Fleet Academy on Prefsbelt IV wasn't considered the best of its kind for nothing — not just because many of the Galactic Empire's ace pilots graduated from it. But because the training included the ability to pilot virtually everything that was, in one way or another, in service with the Armed Forces of the Galactic Empire. Even in remote garrisons.
If your brains were in order and your arms and legs grew from the right places, you would now be frantically recalling lectures on the types of small aircraft from the recent past (at the time of training).
And on your subconscious, information about the strengths and weaknesses of the Grand Army of the Republic's machines would flash in fiery letters.
"Black-Two, left!" he ordered his wingman. The machine obediently slid in the indicated direction, thereby getting on the tail of an Alpha-III Nimbus. Tia fired bursts at the Nimbus's engines, but the enemy machine's deflector merely laughed at her efforts.
The enemy executed a "dive" and, thanks to its maneuverability, tried to break off the fight, banking onto its left planes...
But there, Kreb was already waiting for him. With aimed shots, he overwhelmed the deflector, shot off the cooling panels, and then blew up the machine's generator entirely with a precise salvo.
As always in such cases, the astromech died first, its socket located between the generator and the cockpit. But a moment later, the blast wave incinerated the light interceptor entirely.
"Black Wing," he addressed the squadron, "the Nimbus-class have deflectors. Work in pairs."
This would be much easier — better to deal with an enemy machine quickly with eight guns than to nibble at the not-so-weak defenses of these interceptors alone in a "free hunt."
Especially since circumstances also forced them to operate in pairs — the enemy's overwhelming numerical superiority only confirmed the need to watch each other's backs.
TIE Interceptors were faster, more maneuverable, and their guns more powerful than the enemy's. However, unlike the latter, there were fewer Dominion pilots, and their machines weren't equipped with deflectors.
Therefore, it was necessary to try hard to guarantee an enemy kill without getting hurt in the process.
Black-Two dropped onto her right wing, avoiding a meeting with the guns of another ARC. Kreb swore under his breath — the girl was taking unjustified risks, trying to take on such a sturdy opponent almost single-handedly. The lieutenant himself was finishing off a "cripple" in the form of a Nimbus.
The interceptor shot under the belly of the starfighter-bomber, pulling away for a new pass.
But the enemy machine's crew had already decided not to charge straight ahead, seeing the clustered melee between the opposing pilots. Instead, they turned slowly and majestically, intending to attack Black-Two from the rear.
A single shot from the ARC's heavy cannons would be enough for the explosion to leave not even a memory of the interceptor.
Not today.
Lieutenant Kreb, clearly displeased that his wingman had abandoned him during the pass to increase her own kill count, rushed to his subordinate's rescue.
Getting on an ARC-170's tail was a thankless task, given that the third crew member of this machine was a tail gunner operating a twin laser cannon on the ship's stern.
Considering the deflector on the machine, intending to shoot it down before Tia was reduced to a cloud of superheated vapor in such a situation was stupid.
It was necessary to use ingenuity and knowledge of this flying tank's weak points.
And this heavily armored and armed machine — not to mention the proton torpedoes — equipped with deflector shields projected by its extendable S-foils, didn't have many.
In fact, there was only one applicable in the current circumstances: low maneuverability. The tail twin laser's traverse angle was quite good, which meant it was impossible to get into the stern for an attack. Another option for a successful attack involved a strafing run from the sides — at a right angle relative to the ARC's axis of motion in relation to the interceptor.
The forward hemisphere was covered by the forward guns, the rear by the tail gun, which also prevented an attack from above and behind.
And also — to some extent — from below.
But that was precisely the problem — to some extent.
"He's on my tail!" Panic crept into the girl's voice.
"Patience," the pilot advised.
"Kreb!" Green tracers from the starfighter-bomber's laser cannons flashed past the girl's fuselage. "Take him out!"
And what, did I stop for a snack? flashed through the squadron commander's mind.
"Black-Two," the lieutenant opened the comm channel with his subordinate again. "Be ready to pull up sharply. Then spiral with transverse rotation and course offset."
"Hutt spit! Kreb!" A plasma tracer licked her right plane. The machine started smoking. "This is no time for aerobatics! I'm hit!"
But it didn't explode.
"Do as I say!" the lieutenant hissed through tightly clenched teeth.
"Kreb, I..." Despair sounded in the wingman's voice.
"Damn it, woman!" the usually cool-headed pilot exploded, incinerating a Nimbus that had appeared from nowhere with the fire of his guns. The light machine shattered into pieces like a nut under a press. "Do as I say!"
"Kreb! My LSS is failing!" Another burst of laser fire licked the girl's machine. Now there were marks on the cockpit canopy too. "I'll suffocate here!"
"Tia," the squadron commander said, his self-control hanging by a thread, his tone pleading. "Just do it. Trust me."
The girl's TIE Interceptor wobbled to the side, dodging another salvo. But it was obvious that even a simple maneuver was no longer as easy for the damaged craft as it had been before. One hit, and she'd be nothing but a memory.
He had to break the pattern.
Right now!
Black Two shot straight up relative to his original course. The ARC-170 pilot hesitated for a moment, but a second later began climbing after his prey.
The lieutenant tossed another Nimbus at the half-finished enemy, then dove after the primary target. He tried to ignore the warnings from his onboard computer, which was screaming about the G-forces exceeding his body's limits.
And the crack spreading across the cockpit transparisteel.
A glancing hit he'd barely noticed. But it was too late to turn back now.
Maneuvers like that would let the girl hold her course, taunting the bomber's crew with how easy a kill she seemed, while simultaneously throwing off their aim and keeping them from finishing her off quickly.
At least until the CAG himself could execute his own plan and eliminate the threat.
Kreb used his interceptor's speed advantage to fly directly around the enemy craft. Then, after noting on his scanners that Tia had followed his order, he swung his ship back around, executing a crazy ascending half-roll, and ended up parallel to the wingman's pursuer.
The enemy ship was already climbing, exposing its unprotected belly. Only the deflector shields separated the fuselage from the TIE Interceptor's laser cannons. The commander of Black Wing fully exploited his rate-of-fire advantage with the standard guns.
"On my command — dive!" the lieutenant ordered. Black Two confirmed receipt of the order with a click of her comlink.
Excellent. Now it was time to finish the job.
A white haze formed at a distance from the ARC-170's fuselage. By the second burst, it was already turning crimson, showing it was thinning.
The enemy pilot realized what was in store for him. He abandoned the chase for Black Two, pulling into a horizontal plane to meet Kreb with fire from his forward cannons.
Two seconds — a matter of life and death.
"Dive," Kreb said coolly, rolling his ship ninety degrees along its axis and letting the ARC-170's laser cannon fire pass over his head and under his interceptor's belly.
He was meeting it head-on, overwhelming its deflectors with a dagger-like stream of fire from his own guns.
Targeted bursts struck the enemy ship from above.
Kreb's passes had weakened the deflector. It failed.
A green avalanche of laser bursts slammed into the weapons officer's cockpit and the astromech socket located in the center of the ARC-170's fuselage.
The CAG pulled his ship down sharply, avoiding the wave of fire and the shrapnel of debris.
Executing a pirouette, shaking the persistent Nimbus off his tail during the turn, the pilot forced it to break off the pursuit. Tia had moved behind the enemy and fired a non-aimed salvo at the enemy fighter's stern.
The Nimbus veered right, where it was less dangerous. The young squadron commander duplicated the maneuver and finished off the retreating craft.
"Black Two, status," Kreb ordered on a private channel — just him and his wingman. He used his cannons to force another enemy ship to change course and veer off.
"LSS is dead," Tia said, her voice hoarse. "The reactor won't give full power. One of the engines..."
"Glitching?" Kreb asked, pulling up to the left and behind the girl's interceptor. That way he could assess the damage.
And realize a simple truth.
"Shut down the right ion engine," he ordered, watching the damaged unit start to melt its nozzles.
"But I'll lose half my speed and—"
"Disengage," Kreb ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument.
The Chimaera was fifty units from their battle position.
No one nearby — the interceptor pilots had mixed up the enemy squadrons' formations, turning them from organized groups into a herd fighting for survival.
This was the Twi'lek's chance.
"Listen, I can keep going, I just—" the girl argued.
"Pull up two echelons," the lieutenant continued. "And return to the Chimaera. I'll notify OCC — the Whiplash will cover you if possible."
Thankfully, the corvette was only twenty-seven units to starboard, fighting off the enemy furiously with its entire impressive arsenal. Oh, many thanks to whoever commanded that vessel for generously pouring fire from its cannons onto the light fighters and interceptors, and literally annihilating bombers on the right flank with homing missiles.
"Kreb, I..." Tia began.
No time for discussion.
Either she shut down the engine, lost speed, became dead weight and potential bait with a high chance of dying from any stray shot, or she headed for the hangar. And there... if the techs had the opportunity, they'd get her ship back in action faster than she could imagine.
"Disobey, and you're grounded," Kreb said, his voice slightly wavering.
Silence reigned for a few seconds.
The enemy, as if sensing that two TIE Interceptors weren't moving at half their cruising speed for nothing, decided to test them.
The computer reported that three Nimbus fighters were heading their way. Would you just die already?!
"Copy that, Commander," the girl said, her voice utterly defeated as she complied. "Returning to hangar."
In complete silence, he escorted her to a safe area. Then, punching his engines to full power, he plunged the TIE Interceptor back into the battle, immediately turning one of the three Nimbus fighters into a big, fat zero.
* * *
"Four minutes to arrival, sir," Lieutenant Tschel said quietly, watching hypnotized as the Chimaera's gunners stripped the shields from an enemy corvette proudly named the Instigator.
"Arrival of whom?" Captain Makeno asked suspiciously.
"Launch the shuttle," I ordered, ignoring the question. "Start the radio play. And pull the third interceptor squadron back to defend the Chimaera. Have fighters take their place in the battle."
The third squadron had taken the heaviest losses so far — seven pilots shot down. They'd killed at least three times that many. Heavy losses, but I wouldn't let the unit be wiped out.
"Yes, sir," Kreb replied.
I kept my eyes on the Instigator. After launching a volley of missiles, it began to turn away from us, unwilling to sacrifice its hull integrity.
A Raider-II class corvette is firing from its launchers.
Well, commendable. Now we knew for sure that among the five Raiders in the attacking force, there was at least one corvette similar to our Whiplash — a Raider-II armed with missile launchers.
However, the gunners manning the ion cannons had already sent a message to the enemy corvette's crew, telling them it was a very bad idea to show us their nozzles.
Blue-white lightning arced across the Instigator's aft section. As it dissipated, the corvette's engines' white glow died.
The starship, now unable to move under its own power, shuddered as its hull was dragged toward the Chimaera.
Right — if you can remove a ship from the blazing battle, you do it. And the stormtroopers would be happy to establish a new order aboard the Raider-II.
A bit of a pun, that.
But that wasn't the point.
"The shuttle has left the hangar," Kreb reported.
"Excellent, Lieutenant," I said. "Are the droids handling it?"
"Yes, sir."
"In that case, patch me into the shuttle's comm system," The request was immediately fulfilled. "Lieutenant, use encrypted frequency four for the warning."
"Will do, sir."
"Intending to fool the enemy with a shuttle decoy?" Makeno asked.
"Unorthodox, but effective," I replied, half-listening to Kreb instruct the task force personnel. Though calling it an instruction was a stretch — just a phrase telling them not to believe what they were about to hear on the open frequency. "If you'd like, you can come closer — the view from here is extraordinary."
Makeno glanced suspiciously at Tierce. Tierce remained impassive.
No wonder the captain decided to stand beside me.
Meanwhile, the shuttle was already moving forty units away, its course erratic and jerky, aimed at a vector that would take it out of the system.
"This is Grand Admiral Thrawn," I said into the comlink.
My own voice came out of the speakers on the bridge, saying exactly the same thing. Logical, since the Chimaera's antenna was transmitting my words from the comlink to the shuttle, and from there on an open frequency across the entire system. The destroyer's own receiver was picking up the signal too.
There was only one way to avoid this negative side effect during battle — disable that receiving equipment. But then we wouldn't hear our people... beings, to be precise.
"The operational situation requires my presence in another theater of war," I continued. "You will remain here to defeat the enemy, and then return to the Dominion in glory. Captain Makeno, set a course for the system..."
I took my finger off the headset button, as if I had done so to give instructions to the shuttle pilot. In the heat of battle, few would notice such a contrived gesture.
Or the fact that the skin under my thumbnail had turned white again.
"Thrawn," Orsan said, his face hardening with anger. "What do you think you're doing?! Why did you say my name on the air?"
"Take your station, Captain," I said coldly, pointing toward Tierce. "The operation is proceeding exactly as planned. Do as you're told, and you'll receive double the hundred million I paid you for the corvette and transporting my people to this system."
"Are you going to keep reminding me about the aurodium?" Makeno grimaced.
"As I said — your betrayal was generously rewarded," I reminded him. "Now, about that course..."
Yes, I could have come up with something more inventive, but my experience aboard the Reaper had taught me obvious things.
My improvisations weren't convincing to many.
But those beings authorized to make decisions had their own opinions on the matter.
Opinions based, first and foremost, on their own worldview and their idea of what a given being could or could not do, given the information known about them.
"Proton torpedoes launched at the shuttle," Tschel commented. "The droids are beginning evasive maneuvers."
"Good," I nodded, glancing at Makeno. He stood there, hunched, clearly not understanding...
I placed my hands on the armrests of my chair and glanced at the peacefully sleeping ysalamir. Should I give it a name?
Then again, what use did this imperturbable creature have for one? It certainly wouldn't fetch, wouldn't go jogging with me around the sports complex at dawn... It didn't need a name.
In the next seconds, I watched two ARC-170s' shells blow Dominion property to pieces.
The shuttle, despite its vaunted durability, didn't survive three proton torpedoes, turning into a brief flash. Small debris probably remained too, but that was no longer our problem.
And impossible to see from this distance anyway.
"Continue the operation," I ordered. "Intensify the pressure along the front."
With one squadron's remnants withdrawn and rotated to another, we were likely to see increased losses among our own air wing pilots at this moment. If we could neutralize that with turbolaser salvos, why not?
"You set me up, Thrawn," Captain Makeno said in near-complete silence.
My chair swiveled slightly toward him.
"You think so?" I asked.
"Yes," the naval special forces soldier said, his face and voice showing no anger or other negative emotions. "You made sure the commander of Devian's task force thought I'd betrayed them and sided with you. That's why you put on the show."
"Your insight deserves a standing ovation," I said. "But that's not a habit of mine."
"And was it worth it?" Makeno asked. "Sacrificing a valuable ship for one mercenary?"
"We'll build a new shuttle," I assured him. Was I really going to tell him that it was a barely restored wreck from among those on board the Guardian, physically incapable of exceeding lightspeed due to a missing hyperdrive? "But securing the loyalty of specialists like you and your men — that's a far more important task. Lieutenant Tschel, are we detecting outgoing transmissions from the system?"
"Yes, sir," the acting commander of the Chimaera confirmed. "Immediately after the shuttle was destroyed, the Blood Ambitions sent an encoded message."
"Intercepted?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," Tschel repeated. "Standard Imperial encoding. The cryptographers have already prepared the message."
The lieutenant produced a personal datapad.
I took it and, without looking, handed it to Makeno, who had approached at my gesture.
"I think you'll find this useful to read. Lieutenant Tschel. Transmit a sample of the encrypted message to Mr. Pent. Ask him to set aside his current task and begin work in accordance with Protocol Seventeen."
Which, of course, meant sending a search-and-direction-finding program into the HoloNet, following the trail of the encrypted signal.
But I naturally wasn't going to mention that, or tell anyone that Mr. Pent and the other clones of Zakarisz Ghent had their own work protocols.
Fragmented access to classified data always existed and always would. No matter what level of security clearance you had, you would never know all the secrets. That increased their security and non-disclosure many times over.
The captain quickly read what was on the datapad screen. Not a single muscle twitched in his face. That's what proper training and composure looked like.
I could use more specialists like him.
In fact, I even knew how to make that happen. And how to guarantee their loyalty to my cause.
"Exotic eliminated. Makeno is a traitor. Also eliminated. Continuing the fight. The 'Chimaera' will be captured, Lord Devian," he read, handing the device back to me. It passed through my hands and into Lieutenant Tschel's.
"So you've cut off my retreat," Makeno said thoughtfully.
"On the contrary, Captain," I countered. "Thanks to this simple trick — which our intellectually limited enemy commander took for truth — I have freed you and your men from being eliminated by Devian for failing to kill me. Hired assassins don't leave witnesses. With your 'death,' no one can accuse Devian — an Imperial by his own positioning — of being too afraid to eliminate me personally. My murder will add to his political capital and importance among his subordinates. It makes a decent legend about how a champion of the New Order and a loyal servant of Palpatine disposed of a Grand Admiral who dared to act independently. Your benefit in all this is that you can now start a new life. New names, new documents, a great deal of money in your pockets. You are free. And no one will hunt you. Alternatively, you can join us and become part of the Dominion's armed forces. Work in your direct specialty — as special forces, not mercenaries."
"Are you so sure Devian would hunt me down for not killing you?" the special forces soldier asked, looking at me questioningly.
"In his time, Emperor Palpatine built two world-ships, also known as 'habitable spheres.' They were in orbit of Coruscant, each comparable in size and profile to the Death Star," I said. "One was intended for Devian, the other for Grand Moff Kaine. Both were rewards for their contributions to the Empire, gifts from Palpatine to his loyal servants. After Endor, Devian stole both. Even though those spheres had no purpose other than being residential and entertainment complexes."
"I've heard of that," Makeno said. "Devian wanted to spite Kaine, so he used the sphere meant for Kaine to have the rebels destroy it while he was stripping their shipyards. Settling old scores and revenge for grievances."
"Now think about what such a petty and vindictive man would do to you and your men if he learned that not only did you fail his mission to eliminate me, but you also became the reason we got a lead on his base?"
"You think you can track the message I sent him from the Whiplash and locate Devian's base?"
"My specialists are already working on it," I assured him. "I assure you, they're the best in the galaxy."
And they also had the intercepted message from the Blood Ambitions, which would be just as easy to trace to its destination. Moreover, that's what would lead us to—
"Well, sure," Makeno snorted. "If you recruit all the best this way, no wonder they'd pull oxygen out of a vacuum for you. Slicers in general aren't well suited for critical thinking about anything outside their own digital world."
"In any case, the deed is done," I said. "You helped me, albeit against your will, to lure Devian's fleet here. I trust the sum transferred to you sufficiently compensates for such services?"
"I've never lured an entire fleet into a trap before," Makeno smirked. "You are a dangerously dangerous man, Grand Admiral."
"Thank you," I nodded in reply, glancing at the ship's chronometer. Fifteen seconds. "But I am not a man."
"Well, you could be a Hutt in Palpatine's skin for all I care," the special forces soldier grinned crookedly. "I'll discuss your very intriguing offer of joining your service with my men. If you promise not to pursue those who refuse, I think some will want to return to the deck. But as special forces, not guards for some warehouses or stations."
Right... being used outside their specialty was a sore point for naval special forces.
"Thank you for your honesty, Captain," I said. Five seconds. "If it's not too much trouble, you may remain on the bridge and watch the finale of this tragedy for two of my opponents' fleets."
"Two fleets?" Orsan's eyes bulged. "Meaning someone else is coming here?"
"Not coming," I said, watching the barely noticeable engine flashes accompanying the radiation bleed-off as ships emerged from hyperspace. "They are already here. Allow me to introduce, Captain, another set of entities insistent on my demise. The First Division of capital ships of the First Military Fleet of the New Republic Defense Forces. Ten Mon Calamari Star Cruisers of the MC80 Liberty class and other modifications, six Mon Calamari MC40a light cruisers, twenty-three escort frigates, and sixteen gunships."
"Not bad," Makeno breathed, realizing I had named the enemy's numbers before they all entered real space and appeared on the tactical display. "Forgive me, but do you seriously intend to destroy this armada with a single Star Destroyer?"
A clearly audible snicker came from Lieutenant Tschel. Hmph. His composure still needed work.
"Destroy?" I repeated. "Fear the Sith, Captain. That is beyond my power. We will capture them."
Makeno looked at me as if I were insane.
I know the look. You're not the first, Captain, and you won't be the last. You'll get used to it soon enough, fit into the team.
"All of them?" Orsan asked, undisguised irony in his voice, looking at me incredulously.
"All," I nodded in agreement. "Except one." Pressing a button on my armrest, I magnified the image of a single Star Cruiser on the nearest screen. "This ship is familiar to every self-respecting Imperial."
"Home One," Makeno growled.
"Under the command of the legendary Admiral Ackbar," I confirmed. "And now we're going to give them a good thrashing."
Makeno, and — why hide it — Tierce and Tschel, looked at me suspiciously. Well, sorry, it slipped out.
"Fleet order, Lieutenant," I said, not giving my subordinates a moment to recover. "Begin. "
"Yes, sir."
The Chimaera's transmitter came to life.
And before Devian's forces and the New Republic realized they were actually here for the same purpose, two things happened simultaneously.
First.
Dozens of barely visible flashes from radiation bleed-off appeared behind the New Republic fleet.
Second.
Behind the Chimaera, the Guardian materialized.
And the guns began to speak.